Beside him the woman was talking almost incessantly. Enough that he couldn't remember clearly the last time she'd stopped for longer than it took to draw a breath. She managed more often than not to talk even without breathing for whole sentences. He wasn't even sure what she was talking about anymore. It might be rude, but he'd tuned her out so that he could set his attention to his actual job.

Near as he could tell he was more company than he was actually a bodyguard. It'd been... Two days since they'd left and he hadn't seen anything more dangerous to her than her inability to stop talking long enough to breathe. If she wasn't so obviously skilled at it he might have worried that she'd suffocate herself. This was the last day though, they were on the edges of the city and soon enough he'd be able to drop her off and head home.

Home to Laven.

The thought warmed him from head to toe and made the burden of keeping his current charge company endlessly easier. It never ceased to surprise him how much he missed the other man when he wasn't around. Menel found his mind wandering to thoughts of Laven at the oddest time. There was a long piece of wild lavender he'd found while walking along the road with her pressed in a piece of cloth laying in his vest beside the throwing knives that he kept concealed there. He'd picked it because some stray piece of blue cloth had gotten knotted around it and he couldn't help but think of Laven.

He wondered if Laven was thinking of him, or if he was to busy tailoring something at the moment. The thought almost made him laugh, but he kept it to himself, not wanting the woman at his side to actually turn her conversation on him.

She wasn't the bad sort really aside from being so talkative. She was apparently a fairly well known fortune teller which was how she made her living. Which was actually why he was body-guarding her. She insisted that her life was in danger. That someone was going to try and kill her. From what he understood it was something she foretold herself. Personally he was a little caught on the subject. He didn't really believe in fate, but his one real encounter with a fortuneteller was one that had left a lingering doubt about distrusting that kind of power.

The hunt today was a little complicated. Fortune teller’s generally have the same set of scent and her lady has kindly provided her with a sample of her perfume for her to track her by. However it seems to be a rather common perfume so there was a bit of hit and miss. Throughout the day she carefully follow the scent and track the one she was meant to kill, having to cross certain individual off the list and try not to follow their scent again as she resume her search. By lunch time she finally found the one, albeit she has a body guard making the kill a little difficult. But her Lady wants her heart, the heart of a fortune teller who happens to be far too accurate to be normal.

It has gotten to the point. She completely stops questioning why she was order to kill. She just do it.

For the rest of the afternoon she stalks the two silently through the crowd. Her presences almost non-existence in the crowd despite her obvious wolf ears and tail, those who do notice her leave her alone because of the metal collar she wore around her neck. It is never wise to try and steal another person’s slave. Particularly ones with such a dead glassy eyes, a sign of a well-trained slave and most likely deadly.

Ceberas patiently tailed them, with no sign of giving herself away. Not even as they wander closer to the city’s edge. She does not slack off. She does not fail. Always has to be good for Lady. Always a good pet for her.

Her patience was paid off as the fortune teller just moved slightly further ahead from her body guard. She seemed happy. Ceberas is happy too. The street they are on is empty and will be empty for a while. Her target is far from her protector, he won’t have time to get to her with that body frame.

Quietly she gets into position. All her muscle tensed and strained as she breathe deeply through her muzzle. She sprinted, within seconds she was within her arm reach. Her claw aiming for her chest, already glistening with poison.

Menel couldn't quite place when it happened, but as they walked he began to get the distinct impression that they were being watched. The swordsman didn't discount the instinct even without evidence to back it up. After all his years as a hunter and bodyguard he knew better than to ignore it. If the hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention, there was likely a good reason for it, and it was better to be cautious than to be surprised.

The swordsman paid sharper attention to the world around them, disliking the path that his client chose to take but keeping the opinion to himself. She was going to go wherever she wanted to go regardless of what he said, so it was best to just follow along and avoid her turning that endless stream of conversation into something that he'd actually be expected to listen to.

He was almost expecting it when the flash of white appeared ahead of him. He didn't hesitate to move, already knowing that his body would not be able to interpose itself between the woman and that movement before the two collided. So he didn't try. Instead he grabbed the poor woman by the back of her shirt and jerked her backwards, shoving her toward and then behind him even as he snapped his foot upwards, seeking to use the rush of forward momentum of the other person as a striking force. Or they would wisely stop before they all but impaled themselves on his boot.

It would be good if the first strike hit, if the man was too stunned to notice her tearing it out. It would have been so simple then. There was a soft growl as the first attack missed. Pulled aside to safety by the swordsman, and now she doesn’t have a clear line of attack anymore. Not to mention he is striking back at her.

A quick shift of her footing and hand blocks the rising kick. Her reflex was honed throughout the year, too many past failures already burned the lesson into her body. Borrowing the momentum from the foot, she flipped backwards to create a little distance again. But she did not stop there. As soon as her feet touch the ground, she dashed straightforward again, heading straight for the swordsman. Claws flexing and ready to attack.

Except she didn’t. At the last second she twists on her toes to dash to the side and going behind him. Still aiming for the woman, the bodyguard is uninteresting to her. He wasn’t mentioned by her Lady so there is no reason for her harm him. She also can’t fight for long either, too tired and hungry to last right now. She’ll be hungrier if she failed before sundown.

It was only when the figure back-flipped away that Menel realized what he was facing. He should have realized really, white was not a color that most assassins wore, but he'd never heard of a wolfanthrope acting as a hired hitter before. Menel urged his client to stay close to his back, using his own body as a shield for hers. In a flash he had his swords out. The wolfanthrope could move quickly but Menel could draw his swords faster than most men could even see the movement. Furthermore his blades were quite long which meant in this narrow field he could choose to use the weapons to blockade the space which is exactly what he did.

For a moment as she stood there he had a chance to realize that the wolfantrope was a woman. Her fur white and well-maintained. She wore a slave collar around her neck and a muzzle over her face. Menel internally winced at the sight of both. How well he knew the feeling of metal around his limbs, weighing him down. The weight of a whip which was so much heavier, but not half as heavy as the feeling of being a thing. Of feeling less than human.

The wolfanthrope rushed forward in a blur of white, heading right toward him, and he tensed from head to toe in preparation for the attack that did not come. Instead the wolfanthrope twisted, trying doggedly to get to the woman behind him. Menel hadn't moved his sword though, and it still blocked her path. The swordsman didn't hesitate to rotate the blade in his other hand, flipping it over and stabbing it across the intervening space.

She is sheltered behind him, his whole body and a sword stands between them. The fortune teller sticking way too close for her to strike out cleaning for her chest. Of course she could still get to the heart from the back, but having the ribs closer meaning she would take a while to pull her arms free. And it might get damaged, something which will not please her Lady. There seems to be no other choice other than to first incapacitate the swordsman first.

The appearance of a second blade didn’t deter her much. She doesn’t want to get stabbed still, because Lady doesn’t want her trailing blood everywhere. She ducked down low to allow the blade pass safely overhead before leaping up behind the sword arm, aiming her claws at the man, if she somehow miraculously hit the woman trying to hide behind all the better. They wouldn’t be able to move for long, just a small dose is enough to make the whole limb numb.

Good thing her poison was never really there for outright killing, not unless she poured a large amount into their body. Otherwise she would need Lady to punish her again. She is only allowed to kill as directed, no one else. That’s how it always has been for as long as she could remember.

Under his stabbing blade she went nimbly. She was quite quick, not quite as fast as he was on the defensive, but faster than he was on the attack. Not that he was intent on attacking at all. If he had been he would have flipped Asha'din over and stabbed the sword down at her while she was crouched down. Menel wasn't trying to kill the woman though, he was simply trying to defend his client who was for the first time silent. He could feel the woman's fingers on his back and he was glad of the touch. If she was touching him he could keep track of her without looking, and it would warn her if and when he had to move quickly to keep the wolfanthrope at bay.

Normally Menel would have been inclined to try some kind of negotiation, but he knew something of wolfanthropes. Like wolves they were inclined toward tight-knit family units, fiercely loyal to their pack. They were superb hunters, and if she had his client's scent then there was no way that they were going to lose her. Given how doggedly she was attacking Menel doubted that she was going to simply give up if he proved himself to have superior skill. Since he was unwilling to kill her Menel was left with few other options.

She leaped over his arm claws reaching for his client and Menel quickly back-stepped, shoving the woman bodily backwards and driving himself to the left to stay between the wolfanthrope and the psychic. He paid for the rash move when her claws scoured lines over his bracer and cut a little line over his arm. Normally the little scratch wouldn't have been anything to worry about but he couldn't feel the cut. Which meant that there was some kind of poison in her claws. Something that was numbing his flesh. Doubtless it would try to spread through his system and possibly even disable his entire arm.

Gently Menel cursed under his breath and realized that he was going to have to take this up a notch if he wanted to keep his client in one piece. "Run."He growled the word at the woman and she didn't hesitate to take off running down the length of the alley. The moment that the wolfanthrope's head snapped up exactly as he expected Menel slammed his forehead as hard as he could against hers. The pain exploded through his temples but he wasn't going to let that stop him. Immediately he followed the motion with several lightning fast attacks meant to drive the wolfantrhope away from him and therefore further away from his client.

Speed and sharp strength is what she was trained for, not lasting fights. She may be able to starve and still run a marathon, but it would be a different matter if she has to fight someone.

The claw strikes landed, small scratches were just enough to let the poison do their work. Even if its going to take a few moment for it to spread properly. If she could just land another one on his leg then she is free to chase after the woman. Even if the woman runs, she would easily run her down. She knows the city like the back of her hand. It wasn’t her first time here, and every time Lady come for business she was allow to roam and map the city. After she finished her task of course, Lady’s desire first.

Still she didn’t expect the sudden head butt. It was more common for her to be stabbed right now and she can deal with that easily and it allows her to grapple with him and possibly sink her claw deeper into his legs. Regardless now her head is ringing a little and she could just barely dash back and weave through the fury of attacks. By the time there was a pause, the woman was nowhere in sight. She could still trace her scent, but by the looks of it the man won’t let her pass so easily.

She glared at him, a louder vicious growl resounded behind her muzzle. Her muscles all tensed, even her tail stop swaying. Everything is winding up in preparation of the sprint. If that’s the way it is, she is going to slit his throat. Nothing is allowed to be in her way, she must complete her task.

Kicking off the ground she close the distance in a bat of an eye, going within his arm reach, but out of the range of his long swords. He wouldn’t be able to cut her unless he is willingly to cut himself. She throws her claws down aiming to scratch deep gashes on both of his biceps, before kicking back away just as fast without checking if the attack landed. On the way back she ducks down just in case of the blades cutting into her back.

It was only when there is a distance between them again she paused. There is something in the air. Something familiar... But she just can’t remember...

Quickly she shook her head, there is no point in thinking about it. It doesn’t matter.

Every part of her body responded to his words. She crouched lower and Menel mirrored the movement as a growl echoed up from behind her mask. Aside from the sound of her breathing and the sound of their bodies meeting in combat it was the first sound that he had heard her make. Oddly in that moment looking at the white wolfanthrope as her tail thrashed back and forth he thought of Nocme. They'd talked so much after burying the bones, enough for him to know that if Ceberas was out there that she would be about this old. She had black fur though, not white like this woman had.

Once again she rushed forward and Menel managed to get his left arm up again to block the majority of her effort to rend his arms to ribbons. One of her claws skidded against metal bracer once again while the other cut deeply into his arm. Menel let out a pained noise and clutched his blade hilt tightly, almost glad when the numbing effect of her poison stole the pain away.

It gave her just enough time to run past him and after the fortuneteller. Menel cursed and carefully sheathed Kasha'din. He couldn't feel his fingers properly anymore and there was blood draining heavily from the cuts on his shoulder. He hadn't come out of the exchange exactly on top, but he couldn't give up that easily.

Tightening his grip on Asha'din, Menel took off after the wolfantrhope. He knew that the fortuneteller was just standing at the end of the alley waiting for him. They'd discussed beforehand that it would be dangerous for her to run to far from where he could protect her. However at the moment the mouth of the alley was not any safer for her than anywhere else might be.

Menel sped after the wolfanthrope, ignoring the way his left arm hung at his side uselessly and moving as quickly as he could. He was a little faster than her, and he had to hope that it would count for something now; that he would make it to the woman before anything happened.

As he recover from the sudden pain from her clawing, she took this opportunity and dashed forward passed him. Following the scent carefully and running at full speed. She didn’t have to look back to know he was right behind her and could only hope her target was close enough. So far the trail did not veer left or right but straight down the empty alleyway. Yet nothing seems to be going her way today.

The woman cautiously peeks out from behind a trash can. Just in time to see her charging towards her and after a small squeak of panic, she immediately continues to run down the road. Going into a busy street and lose herself in the crowds. She can’t follow, at least not like this. Not when she has a swordsman on her tail. It was actually amazing that he is still stubbornly chasing after her with one arm completely disable by the poison. At least that meant one less sword to deal with.

Her feet dug into the floor as she changed direction in an instant – facing the swordsman once again. She quickly raised her claw, dashing in and aiming to dig for his arm or leg, anything to make him slow down and stop chasing her. Just let her take her mark.

However as the distance close between them, the scent hit her again. It was familiar, so familiar. A faint scent of mint and chocolate, but why was it so familiar? She hesitated for a second before swiping her claw down on him.

His breathing was more labored than it should be. The poison he was certain. Thankfully it seemed largely contained to his arm. If he really tried he could still feel it, but it was like it was a lead weight on his body. To heavy to move properly, and he didn't have the time at the moment to make more of an effort of it. Right now he had to focus on what he could use and what he could do.

He almost wasn't surprised when the wolfanthrope turned on him, thankfully he still had Asha'din in hand, and it was easy to snap the blade into a defensive posture. He placed the silver metal between himself and the woman, his eyes narrowing at her just a little. For just a moment she hesitated and that surprised him more than her attack did.

Menel had no idea why she hesitated, and though he had little desire to hurt her he knew that if he didn't drive her off she would kill the fortuneteller. She might kill him. So he attacked her claw with his blade. He pressed what little advantage he could and attacked furiously. She had no armor, no protection from his sword, and if he could just injure her badly enough to make her retreat...

Sometime she couldn’t help it, sometime the scents made her remember things. Things that made her pause and wanting to concentrate on the memory, even if it immediately slips from her grasp. Again and again she told herself not to hesitate. Hesitate meant pain, meant another night chained to the wall standing, and her Lady displeased. So she know she had it coming when the blade come up to meet her. She tried to back away, but it was too late and he was still charging forward. So the blade cut cleanly into her arm and fur.

It wouldn’t be wrong to assume she has no armour, but it is wrong to assume she is defenceless. Her white fur dying red and green with the cut. A putrid smell waft out of the wound, her blood has already converts itself into paralysing poison. Although thanks the side effect of this skill, the silver blade make the wound burn like fire. But she can’t give up. Not allow to.

She huffed trying to push through the pain, letting the scent of blood drive her thoughts back. Her pupils narrow to a point as she lunged at him, trying to splatter some of her poisoned blood at him to let him feel the searing acid as she tries to floor him with her weight and strength. A good hit to the head always help in getting someone unconscious or dizzy enough for her to kill.

His blade bit into flesh and fur, causing not only red blood but green liquid to spill out. The familiar tang of it scented the air, but that smell was tainted by another. Something that tickled at his nose, smelling not exactly as he expected poison to smell, but almost familiar in a way. He twisted his blade in the air, feet ever shifting to keep up the attack, keep the wolfanthrope occupied.

She lunged forward sloppily, her movement easy to read and dodge. Her blood splattered across his armor hissing but his armor protected his flesh from further damage. Menel adjusted his weight, allowing the wolfanthrope's weight and movement to carry her beyond him and deeper into the alley.

Away from the fortuneteller.

Once again he found himself between the wolfanthrope and her chosen prey. His breathing was heavy and he knew it was the poison lingering in his blood. The same poison that had stolen nearly all of the sensation in his arm. Even so he stood. His armor splattered crimson and with little acid marks that smelled of some indescribable scent. It made his muscles tense, his blue eyes darkening as his body lowered slightly."Just go. I don't want to fight you."

She hit the floor with a thud, missing completely. Quickly shaking her head she stood back up, ignoring the dripping blood that is leaking to the floor. She has to get that heart, she has to! The sun is starting to go down. Her Lady will soon be wondering where she is.

Yet he still stands before her, poison still slowly spreading. Soon he wouldn’t be able to keep moving and dodging her attack anymore. Soon she is free to chase after the woman and then go back to her Lady. He begs her not to fight, but she couldn’t. She doesn’t want to fight either but she couldn’t. For a brief moment she let her control slip, shaking her head with a sad face.

Suddenly she flinched, hands on her ears in attempt to stop the noises ringing in it, her head is aching again. It happens from time to time and it was a signal that she is losing it, that if she doesn’t get back to her she would do something she regret. She really shouldn’t be wasting time thinking about this. Just need to get that heart fast!

Growling again she returns to her sprint stance. Judging by his pose, it won’t be long till his poisoned side becoming far too cumbersome to move effectively. As long as she could dodge around that blade she should be fine. Taking a deep breathe, she bolted forward. Weaving a little at the start until she was within the sword length. With another sudden boost of speed that make the floor crack beneath her feet, she bolted towards his limp side, hoping to push past him and just go straight for the woman. If that doesn’t work, it at least get her close enough for a good hit.

There was something to be said for the pure amount of stubbornness that Menel was capable of. Another bodyguard would have given in either to the poison that was trying to steal through his body, or realized that fighting this wolfanthrope the way he was... Wasn't going to work. Menel didn't even consider giving ground. He didn't care if his left arm was a lead weight, or if his breathing was a touch more labored than it usually was.

Besides, he could feel it in his bones, in his blood. The pulse and call of the battle he was fighting. Usually he fought and though he wasn't always happy to admit it; he enjoyed it. That, or he fought with a sort of grim determination. However this time, ever since he'd caught sight of the red and green blood spilling over the wolfanthrope's white fur something had his teeth on edge.

She flinched back, paws rising to her ears as she shook her head. As if she was trying to block out his words. Right then he could have attacked. Some part of him even wanted to. Wanted to take the opening and make her pay for it but his mind rebelled against the vicious instinct and he stayed where he was. Biting the inside of his lip and shaking his own head. Maybe the poison was affecting him in more ways than one.

He should have expected her to rush his left side, and he did. Yet his block came in to late and he couldn't make his arm obey him. Couldn't make his body move in the way he needed it to. The wolfanthrope was beyond him in a heartbeat, forcing him to regain his balance off the wall. By the time he got himself turned around the woman was already mere inches from the fortuneteller.

Menel shoved Asha'din into the sheathe at his hip and threw himself forward. He felt that knowledge in his gut. He was to late. The wolfanthrope was to close and no matter how fast he could move it wasn't enough. His hand landed on one shoulder, pulling back. Trying anyway because he was to stubborn to give up.

The moment she has gotten past, she spent the rest of her energy bolting down the narrow alley. Ignoring the possibility of him trying to catch up from behind, it would take a lot of willpower to move a body that is mostly paralysed. Even the fortune teller was frozen there in fear at the sight. And she was close, so very close to dig her whole claw in her chest. To drag out the trophy her Lady so desired.

Yet it never went the way she wanted. She could feel his hands on her shoulder and she was pulled back. Her frenzied swipe could only nick her arm, she wasn’t even sure enough poison got in. The fortune teller took this opportunity to run off. Disappearing into the crowds once again.

Her mind is going into panic, she is failing again. She can’t fail her Lady. She just can’t! Through anger and reflex, she turned on the swordsman again. One paw taking the hand that grasp her shoulder in a death grip, claws digging into his wrist, injecting poison in large doses. She didn’t hesitate to pierce her hand straight into his stomach, almost slamming him against the nearby wall.

But doing that, it made her close to him. Made her to take in his scent more carefully, a fresh scent of river and snow so faintly familiar and she can’t remember why. However nothing was more noticeable then that scent of mint and chocolate, plus truffles! It was such a rare food that only she could smell it. Such a rare scent made her remember something.

“Papa...?” she murmured before biting her tongue. She wasn’t allowed to talk without permission, and even then she was only allowed to talk to her Lady. The sharp pain did allow her to think more clearly. After blinking a few time, her green eyes finally showing a semblance of life and she realize what she has done.

He just wanted to draw her away. No attack, he didn't want to hurt her just... His hand was on her shoulder and then her claws were digging in painfully until he couldn't feel it anymore. Menel let out a little gasp of surprise as they pierced his wrist below his bracer. So quickly the hand went entirely numb. Even if he'd seen her other attack coming he wouldn't have been able to block it in time.

Before he could even think about it her hand was cutting into his stomach in the small space where his leather armor did not protect him. His back slammed into the wall and just for a moment he saw white. The pain exploded through his stomach so hotly that it almost made him sick. A groan slipped through his lips and then it was gone. The pain just... gone. Slipping away and his body just didn't want to hold him up anymore. It was a half drunken thought that he was glad that she was holding him up. He would have fallen over without her.

She said something to him and Menel swallowed, his body upheld only by her and the wall behind him. Her eyes looked so green."I'm sorry." Even to him his voice sounded wrong. He felt so weak. His right arm fell to his side as nerveless as his other. He was feeling the weight spreading through his whole body. He couldn't defend himself. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe."Ceberas."

He didn't know why he said her name. Someone he was going to fail. Menel's mind slipped to Laven. His body slumped a little, the strength draining out of him so quickly. Laven. There wasn't any such thing as fate. He was going to fall in this alley and no one was going to be the wiser.

He was slipping away fast and she has to push hard to keep him relatively upright, and not fall straight to the floor. She carefully pull her hand back out from his stomach. Somehow she hesitated again and did not pierce as deeply as she thought, but that doesn’t stop the poison that she overloaded into his body. Her task briefly pushed back, there are more pressing matters to her now.

She doesn’t know why she called him that, she doesn’t really recognise him. Nor could he possibly be her father. She couldn’t even remember his face, but she could assume that it has more wolf features than this man. And yet at the same time she know that she couldn’t let him die, not just because she spent too much of her life to control her killing. But for a reason she doesn’t quite understand herself. Instinct maybe? She hope so...

As carefully as she could, she unbuckled the cape from his armour and wrapped it snuggly around his waist. It is the closest thing she has to a bandage for now, and it would prevent too much blood to be on her clothe. She shouldn’t let her Lady know what she decided to do instead of going after the fortune teller. Gingerly she crawled under his large frame and push herself up, carrying him on her shoulder like how she saw some fireman done it. He is incredibly heavy, but it was still nothing compare to some kills she brought back before.

From there she ran. Taking alley ways and deserted route, since carrying a large swordsman on her back draws way too much attention. But she has no way of healing him, she has to take him to a magic healer. She know where the person is, just takes a while to get to it. By the time she got to the building and laid the man gently at the doorstep the sun has gone down. Punishment is inevitable now, but she will give thanks to her Lady regardless. After all she attacked this innocent bodyguard, he was only doing his job, she deserved all the punishments.

Before she left, she took out a bottle. It was originally for the fortune teller’s other organs. If she didn’t rough her up too bad she was order to harvest what she can. For now it has to hold something else. She steel herself before pressing her claws on the lid, injecting the poison into the glass jar. Hopefully it would be enough for them to give him a proper antidote.

After some quick banging on the door, she was off again. This time to end the fortune teller for real and then return to her Lady for the punishment. She wanted to concentrate again, but his last words continue to circle in her head. It confused her a lot.

Why is he apologising? What did he do to her that need him to say that. Not only that the name he spoke of, it was familiar somehow. But she doesn’t recognise it. She was her Lady’s pet, that is all she is.

He lost time. Menel knew the moment that her fingers left his body because it tried to fall over without success. Then the world was turning and twisting. He couldn't tell which way was up or which way was down and it hardly seemed to matter at all. Everything was moving. His whole body was so heavy that he felt like he should fall asleep any moment.

It felt so tempting actually. To just give in to the weight. As if it wasn't really that important to breathe, to stay awake. It would have been easy to give into it. He didn't even understand why he so stubbornly tried to stay awake.

Maybe it was the way his mind wouldn't quite quiet down for him.

"Like being the big spoon, do you?"

He did. Holding Laven close to his heart, the elf's lavender hair pressed against his cheek. It made him feel warm to just have the other man close to his body. He wanted to know everything that would bring a smile to Laven’s lips, he wanted to know the story behind every scar secure in the knowledge that this elf had survived all these years with that cunning mind and the nimble fingers that touched his face. That thought, that memory echoed in the back of his mind. Over, and over.

It was wrong. That Laven would never hear how much Menel loved him. But why shouldn't he? Menel watched the world tilt again until he was looking at blue sky. He remembered this. This feeling that made him feel so heavy and so light at the same time. Last time... he'd wanted to give in, it'd seemed easier. So much easier than facing the truth. The shadow over his body faded away and he turned his face against the ground. The banging felt like his heart against he skull. Hard, heavy. Slowing...

I don't want to fall asleep.He didn't want to face the dark. He wanted to see Laven again. His heart ached in his chest with the effort of staying awake. Every breath was one he had to force himself to take. There was the sound of a little click and he knew he was being moved again. The only thing he could focus on was that one thought. The one that was keeping him awake.